


home is a fire

by alicialeila



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty Schmoop, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Getting Together, Hostage Situations, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 18:29:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15540360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicialeila/pseuds/alicialeila
Summary: Totsuka is taken; Mikoto must bring him home.





	home is a fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vassbutt1991](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vassbutt1991/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Vanessa!
> 
> I wanted to write you the hurt/comfort you deserve, but this will have to do.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it <3
> 
>  
> 
> (the title is from a song by death cab for cutie)
> 
> Edited: Just to be safe, no rape or sexual violence takes place in this fic.

 

It was Anna who was the first to notice that something wasn’t right.

There was nothing particularly unusual about that early afternoon; Yata had just burst into the bar, shouting something loudly, with Kamamoto trailing behind him, murmuring a placating, “Yes, Yata-san.” The others would be shuffling in over the next few hours so that Homra could have a staff meeting of sorts, between clansmen. 

Anna shifted restlessly in her seat at the bar. “Tatara,” she said quietly. Her marbles were laid out in front of her, and she was staring at them intently.

Kusanagi looked over at her curiously. He checked the time on his watch and raised an eyebrow. “He’s later than usual, huh?”

“Is something wrong with Totsuka-san, Anna?” Yata asked, moving to stand beside her and peer at her marbles.

She was silent, pale brows furrowed in deep concentration. She looked up a Mikoto wordlessly, even though Mikoto hadn’t said a thing. “I don’t know,” she said helplessly. 

Kusanagi called Totsuka’s phone and frowned when, after a few rings, he got his voicemail. “Totsuka,” he said after the beep, “where are you? Call me back.”

A few long, tense minutes later, Kusanagi’s phone chimed with a message.

“It’s a picture,” Kusanagi said, surprised, when he picked up the phone. Then he recoiled, noticeably. “Mikoto…” His voice was unusually grave as he slid the phone to Mikoto.

Mikoto fought the urge to crush the phone in his hand.

On the screen was a picture of Totsuka.

He was tied to a chair, hands bound behind his back. A large, heavily tattooed man stood behind him, one hand gripping Totsuka’s hair, another hand pressing a knife to Totsuka’s throat. The man was familiar, vaguely, but Mikoto couldn’t place him. He did have a lot of enemies in this city.

Yata gasped loudly and hovered over Mikoto’s shoulder to get a closer look at the screen. “Totsuka-san!” he yelled, face twisted in rage. “Who is that bastard?”

“Kirishima Katsuo,” Kusanagi said, with an eerie calmness that meant he was now in crisis management mode. “He's pretty new to the city, but we’ve dealt with his street gang before.” He grabbed the phone from Mikoto’s shaking hand and pressed the dial button. The line rang and rang, but it went to the voicemail once again. “You don’t want to do this,” Kusanagi said calmly, before ending the call.

They all watched the phone in tense silence. It felt like hours later when it finally started to ring with a video call. With a deep breathe, Kusanagi answered the call on speaker and set the phone between them.

When the grainy image cleared, Mikoto’s eyes were drawn immediately to the background, where Totsuka was still being held down as he’d been in the picture they’d received. Mikoto felt himself starting to tremble as the fire spread through his veins, his control quickly unraveling.

Someone off-screen laughed darkly, and then the video shook as the face of whoever was holding the camera appeared in the foreground. _“Suoh Mikoto,”_ the man—Kirishima Katsuo—drawled in a rough voice, _“are you there?”_

Mikoto grunted.

Kirishima must have heard it, because he continued. “ _One of my boys found your executive here walking home late last night.”_

Mikoto’s eyes flicked up to look at Kusanagi, whose eyes glowed with a fury he was trying to repress. Totsuka had been with these bastards for _hours_. The tight lines of Kusanagi’s face said that he realized this, too.

 _“Do you remember me?”_ Kirishima asked, when Mikoto said nothing. _“No? That’s okay. I’ll refresh your memory. You raided our warehouse. You and I were about to go toe to toe until those blue fuckers showed up. They even arrested one of my men,”_ he snarled.

“Not my problem,” Mikoto said flatly.

_“Ah, but you see, it is. We still need to finish that fight. I want you here, alone, and then maybe I’ll let your boy go.”_

“Fine,” Mikoto sighed.

Onscreen, Totsuka jerked against his restraints. _“No! King, don’t--”_

The sound of Totsuka’s cry was like a physical blow to them all. Kusanagi flinched, and Yata was muttering something behind Mikoto’s back as Kamamoto whispered for him to be quiet. Mikoto gripped his knee, hard, to steady himself.

The camera wobbled as Kirishima walked towards Totsuka. _“Tsk, I thought I told you to stay quiet, Totsuka Tatara-kun,”_ he said.

When Totsuka came into focus, Mikoto heard Kusanagi’s sharp intake of breath before he could process what was happening onscreen. The blade that had only been hovering near Totsuka’s throat was now pressed against it, and a drop of blood trickled down Totsuka’s neck.

Kirishima pulled something out of the back of his pants and tapped the underside of Totsuka’s chin with it.

It was a gun.

Even over the low quality of the video, Mikoto saw the precise moment that Totsuka registered this. He’d composed himself quickly, but Mikoto hadn’t missed the flicker of fear on his face. Mikoto clenched his hands into fists because now the flames threatened to spill out in earnest.

Totsuka had been in his share of dangerous situations; he was that same bright-eyed middle school kid who’d followed Mikoto around despite the likelihood that he’d be beaten up for it. The thing was, those dangerous situations very rarely ever seemed to bother him. He laughed them off with a silly smile, a wave of his hand, a “It’ll be fine!”

Mikoto couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen genuine fear on Totsuka’s face.

He’d seen it just now, however briefly.

He'd seen that, just as he saw Totsuka’s bruised cheek and swollen, split lip, saw the sheen of sweat on Totsuka’s brow.

He knew his breathing was getting heavier, but he refused to make a sound. He felt Anna’s tiny hand clench in his shirt, perhaps sensing the increase in his red aura and wanting to comfort him, or anchor him.

 _“Now, let’s try this again.”_ The slimy tone of Kirishima’s voice snapped Mikoto’s attention back to the video. Kirishima’s finger traced Totsuka’s bottom lip, smearing the blood from his cut. _“I don’t know how much more he can take,”_ he said lightly. The video went blurry and then Kirishima’s face appeared in the foreground once again, Totsuka just a blurry shape in the background. “ _Tonight. Alone.”_ He rattled off an address and then the video disconnected.

Everyone stayed crowded around the phone, long after the video disappeared.

“Shit,” Kusanagi said eventually, breaking the silence.

Mikoto got up from his seat. He figured he might as well go and deal with this now, instead of sitting around here, doing nothing.

Perhaps sensing his purpose, Kusanagi grabbed his arm. “What are you doing, idiot? We need to make a plan.”

“We don’t need a plan,” Mikoto said. “I’ll burn them all.”

“Were you not listening? We don’t exactly have the upper hand here.” Kusanagi sighed. “At least wait until tonight, like he asked.”

“Why?” he grumbled.

“You may be bulletproof,” Kusanagi said thinly, “but Totsuka’s not.” Mikoto froze in his place. “Can we at least think this through? Get Anna to ‘look’ at the place?”

“Fine.”

With shaking hands, Kusanagi pulled out two cigarettes and offered one to Mikoto. “It must be a trap, first of all.”

Mikoto scoffed. That much was obvious, but did this bastard really think he could beat Mikoto in a fight? The idea of treating this like some kind of hostage situation was ridiculous.

He took the offered cigarette and then lit it with a tap of his finger. After taking a long drag, he exhaled the smoke heavily. It would do no good to think about the sound of Totsuka’s pained yelp or that man’s hands on Totsuka’s face, and yet…

He thought, stupidly, of when he’d seen Totsuka last night. Totsuka didn’t usually stay so late, but Yata had coaxed him into having a few drinks, and they’d both gotten silly and loud. Well after Kusanagi had left for the night, Totsuka had finally managed to send a cranky Yata—mumbling something about “that bastard Saruhiko”—home, accompanied by a watchful Kamamoto.

Eyes on their retreating figures outside, Totsuka had laughed softly. “Poor Yata,” he’d said. “Those two…” It came out almost like a sigh.

Mikoto grunted, wordlessly asking Totsuka to continue.

“It’s just sad, you know? That Fushimi was never able to tell Yata what he really…” Totsuka was still staring out the window, even though Yata and Kamamoto had disappeared from view. When he turned to meet Mikoto’s gaze, he was oddly serious.

Mikoto raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“I just…” Totsuka trailed off, and Mikoto’s pulse raced, suddenly aware that Totsuka was probably about to say something stupid. Totsuka must have read the expression on his face, because he just laughed and swallowed down whatever he’d been about to say. “I’d better get home. It’s late!”

It was for the best, he’d thought as he’d locked the doors after Totsuka had left.

But now, he imagined Totsuka thinking about that conversation, about what he’d wanted to say, and what he’d almost said, like some kind of lost chance, because Totsuka was sentimental enough to think about that kind of thing in a life or death situation.

He watched distantly as the other clansmen joined Kusanagi and Yata and started to outline some kind of strategic backup plan. As far as he was concerned, he was going to go, fight, and bring Totsuka back; whatever they were planning, it didn’t matter.

Anna had shifted to sit even closer to Mikoto, her worry flowing from her in waves. His presence probably wasn’t very comforting right now, considering all he felt was a deep, burning rage, but Anna clung to his side nonetheless.

Eventually, the sun set as the late afternoon gave way to nighttime.

“Mikoto,” Kusanagi said. “It’s time.”

Mikoto stubbed his half-smoked cigarette into the ashtray and stood.

“Mikoto,” Anna said quietly, her eyes unusually wide with worry.

“It’s fine.” He placed a hand atop her head.

Years ago, when Mikoto had seen a tiny Totsuka with his leg in a cast, covered in bandages, he had despised that someone could be hurt like that in his name. And then, when he’d been given the burden of the Red King’s powers, Totsuka had told him that his powers could _protect_.

He had decided then that he would protect them all.

He would protect Totsuka now.

 

 

 

Arriving at the agreed-upon location, a warehouse just outside the city, Mikoto inhaled deeply. He needed enough power to defeat the bastard, obviously, but that wasn’t really the problem. He also needed enough restraint not to burn down the entire goddamn building and kill everyone inside. Alone, with Totsuka across the room, restrained and bloodied, instead of beside him, laughing, ready to break through his fiery haze with a cool hand, well…

Taking a step forward, he imagined Homra’s battle cry echoing in Yata’s loud roar.

_No blood._

_No bone._  
  
_No ash._

The door to the warehouse had been left open, as if in invitation. He took his time entering, walking slowly with all the cool indifference he could muster. Surprisingly, the room was empty except for a vacant chair and a single figure standing in the middle of it, smoking a cigarette.

“Kirishima,” Mikoto said.

“Ah, so you do know who I am.” Kirishima exhaled a huge puff of smoke, taking a few steps toward him. “Are you ready for a rematch, Suoh Mikoto?”

“Where’s Totsuka?” Mikoto asked impatiently.

“I suppose you would want to make sure your _executive_ is unharmed,” Kirishima drawled. “Masuko!”

Totsuka was shoved into the room by a man probably three times his size; his hands were bound behind his back, and then wrapped with some sort of towel—an attempt to smother Totsuka’s tiny flame, maybe? He wanted to snicker at that, but now was not the time.

The man pushed Totsuka into the chair and gripped his shoulders to keep him in place. Another man appeared and promptly trained a gun on the side of Totsuka’s face.

Totsuka looked tired, and dirty, but, Mikoto noticed furiously, he was somehow _smiling_. It was a weary and brittle thing, but Totsuka was looking at Mikoto, in the middle of a goddamn hostage negotiation, and smiling.

Kirishima, who had perhaps mistaken the focus of Mikoto’s gaze, chuckled smugly. “Some strange restraints, hmm?” He took a few steps towards Totsuka, and Mikoto’s hand clenched. “That’s some party trick he’s got. Really took us by surprise.”

“Afraid of a few sparks?” Mikoto smirked.

Kirishima’s eyes narrowed. “Best not to take chances with these kinds of things.” He tossed his cigarette to the ground. “Enough talking. You owe me a fight.”

Not wasting any time, they both raised their fists. Kirishima took the first swing, and Mikoto dodged it easily. The more Kirishima swung at him, the sloppier he got, and the easier it was for Mikoto to slam his fist into Kirishima’s jaw in one heavy punch. Kirishima stumbled backwards, wiping blood from his mouth.

“Are we done here?” Mikoto asked, bored. He hadn’t even broken a sweat.

He watched a frustrated Kirishima realize that he was outmatched, and hoped that this might be the end of it. It would be so much easier that way.

He was never that lucky.

“Bastard,” Kirishima grunted.

As Kirishima pulled out a gun and pointed it at him, Mikoto thought that it was unbelievable, really, how people tended to underestimate _fire._ Maybe they thought the stories of Mikoto’s power was simply rumor, or exaggerated. But a gun, really? Lazily, he raised a hand to stop Kirishima’s bullet in its tracks.

And then, more bullets rained down at him from hidden shooters, and as he melted them in the air, he sighed. “You have ten seconds to get out of here,” he announced evenly, “before I burn this place to the ground.”

“Masuko!” Kirishima cried out. “Nakahara!”

Kirishima’s henchmen were now both pointing guns at Totsuka, though their eyes were fixed on Mikoto with equally terrified expressions. Distracted by the intensity of his powers, they were hesitating, and that was enough.

If these idiots had been surprised that Totsuka could use fire in the first place, then they probably didn’t know anything else about his connection to Mikoto’s powers.

“Totsuka,” he said, and Totsuka’s answering nod was so slight that the men probably hadn’t seen his head move.

Mikoto noted distantly, as his flames erupted, that Totsuka didn’t even close his eyes, didn’t even flinch, so much did he trust that Mikoto’s power wouldn’t harm him.

The men watched their guns melt in their hands, and then they let out blood-curdling screams. Totsuka used the distraction to shoot out of the chair and run to Mikoto.

When Mikoto cast a glance back at Kirishima, who looked miserable and defeated, he knew that it was over. Acting as a veritable shield, Mikoto walked them out of the warehouse, leaving fire and chaos in their wake.

When they were a safe distance from the burning building, Totsuka collapsed onto his knees, panting. Mikoto crouched down to untie his hands, which trembled as Mikoto turned them over, looking for injuries. Totsuka’s wrists had been rubbed raw from his restraints, but they didn’t seem too bad. He dropped Totsuka’s hands in order to cup his cheek, taking a closer look at the cuts and bruises on his face.

His eyes trailed down to the cut on Totsuka’s neck, the one that had dripped threateningly in Kirishima’s video. It didn’t seem to be bleeding anymore, but it was hard to tell with the dried blood that was caked on Totsuka’s pale skin.

Totsuka cleared his throat. “I’m okay,” he murmured, but the hoarseness of his voice said otherwise. He winced when Mikoto’s thumb brushed over a dark bruise.

Remembering where they were, and that he was still touching Totsuka’s face, Mikoto let his hand fall. “Can you walk?” he asked.

Totsuka nodded. “Just give me a minute.” He looked back behind them, where smoke had begun to seep through the open door and float up into the night sky, and for a moment, Mikoto thought Totsuka might say something, but then he just let out a heavy breath.

Mikoto considered him with a frown. Turning slightly, he said, “Oi.”

“King?”

Mikoto just blinked, waiting for Totsuka to understand.

Slowly, Totsuka climbed onto Mikoto’s back, wrapping his arms around his neck. “Thank you, King,” he whispered into Mikoto’s ear. Mikoto wasn’t sure if he was thanking him for the ride or for saving him, but either way, he muttered in acknowledgement.

As they walked away from the wreckage, Totsuka’s arms tightened around his neck. “Totsuka,” Mikoto choked out.

“Sorry,” Totsuka said softly, loosening his grip. He let his head rest on Mikoto’s shoulder.

Mikoto had carried Totsuka like this once, years ago, when Totsuka had been much smaller and lighter and had hurt his ankle. Unable to say no to that sunny smile, Mikoto had brought him home by piggyback, a little grumpy at the ridiculous sense of responsibility he’d felt. He still felt that now, but with the weight of Totsuka on him, the warmth of his breath on his neck, he felt something else, something more.

He walked on. He’d never really thought that they _wouldn’t_ get Totsuka back, that they’d lose him, and yet, relief coursed through him and settled deep into his bones.

 

 

Totsuka sat at the bar in Homra, with the guys gathered around him, as if he was in the middle of a performance. Totsuka was smiling like he always did, waving off their concern. His neck had been carefully bandaged by Kusanagi, and he had a cloth full of ice pressed to his cheek. 

Upon their arrival back at Homra, Kusanagi had crushed Totsuka in a desperate hug. When Totsuka had tried to splutter an explanation as to how he’d managed to get himself kidnapped, Kusanagi, cheeks slightly red with embarrassment, had said that he’d save the lecture for another day.

“Totsuka-san,” Yata had sniffled wetly into Totsuka’s shoulder, “I’m glad you’re okay.” Totsuka had chuckled and patted Yata’s back kindly until he’d let go.

Anna hadn’t taken her eyes or hand off Totsuka since they’d gotten back.

“I’m fine, everyone,” Totsuka said, smile never wavering. “It’s not like this is the worst I’ve even been beaten up, anyways.” He laughed lightly, but nobody else joined in. Mikoto gave him a flat look.

Kusanagi shook his head, exasperated. “Still, you should stay here tonight,” he said. Anna’s head bobbed in agreement.

“What are the odds I’d be kidnapped two days in a row?” Totsuka quipped.

Kusanagi knocked a fist against the top of Totsuka’s head. “Do it for our peace of mind, idiot,” he said.

Totsuka looked down at Anna and was met with her very best puppy dog eyes. “Okay, okay,” he agreed.

After being gently pushed into the bathroom to bathe, he was given a pair of Mikoto’s pajamas to sleep in, since his own clothes were filthy. Kusanagi had promised to bring him clean clothes tomorrow.

Totsuka sat on the couch he regularly used for his afternoon naps, with his usual blanket. Anna was beside him, observing him intently.

“Time for bed, Anna,” he said softly. He touched her face gently. “Will you help me make breakfast in the morning?”

Anna nodded into his hand.

“Okay, then. Good night.” Totsuka’s gaze traveled from Anna’s face to where Mikoto was standing on the stairs, watching them. “Good night, King,” he said brightly, as if they had not just burned down a warehouse together.

Mikoto snickered. “Anna,” he called out, when it became apparent she wasn’t going to let go of Totsuka without a little prompting.

Anna flashed him a look, but she ran to him obediently, and Mikoto walked her upstairs and made sure she got into bed.

“He’s fine,” Mikoto said before turning off the lights.

“I know.” Her voice was quiet in the dark. As usual, a wordless understanding passed between them.

After a beat, he closed the door.

 

 

Mikoto had an interesting relationship with sleep. He often alternated between bouts of insomnia and sleeping far too much. Tonight, he lay in bed for nearly an hour until he couldn’t take it any longer.

He couldn’t sleep, not when that idiot was downstairs, pretending he was fine.

He shrugged on a T-shirt and grabbed a pack of cigarettes. On his way, he made sure to peer into Anna’s room to make sure she was still there and hadn’t run down to mind Totsuka in secret. (She hadn’t.) He lit his cigarette and made his way downstairs to the bar.

It was dark, but Mikoto could still see the faint glow of Totsuka’s fair hair, the glint of his earring. He wasn’t lying down, asleep; he was curled up, arms around his knees, staring out the window absently. The faraway look on his face was a jarring departure from the smile he’d just worn for everyone.

Not for the first time, Mikoto was struck by how _delicate_ Totsuka seemed. Not that he was weak, because anyone knew that Totsuka was as fearless and stubborn as the rest of them in Homra. But he looked small in Mikoto’s too-big clothes, and the bandage around his neck almost called Mikoto back to those early years.

Totsuka’s eyes slid to Mikoto as he heard him approach. Mikoto expected a sly remark or self-deprecating joke, but Totsuka just smiled warily.

Mikoto took a seat beside him, and they sat in silence, with just the sound of Mikoto’s inhales and exhales as he smoked between them. He watched Totsuka from the corner of his eye, and couldn’t help but think about hours earlier in the warehouse, where Totsuka had looked so vulnerable, and even earlier, in that video, when he’d looked scared.

Their eyes met. Totsuka was a mess, really, but there was still a warmth in his eyes as he gazed at Mikoto, and Mikoto wanted to ask _how?_

Totsuka’s smile turned wicked, and then, after a beat, he rolled onto his side and lowered his head into Mikoto’s lap, using his thighs as a pillow. Mikoto snorted, but he allowed it. Tentatively, he ran his fingers through the soft strands of Totsuka’s hair, and Totsuka sighed at the touch. He nuzzled into Mikoto’s lap, and Mikoto’s hand stilled.

Between the two of them, Mikoto wasn’t usually the one who had to offer this… this comfort. That was what Totsuka gave to him, with the press of a hand on his shoulder or arm or back.

“Totsuka…” He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say.

Maybe he just wanted Totsuka to say it.

Totsuka shifted onto his back, so that he was looking straight up at Mikoto, smiling. “Hmm?”

“You were scared,” Mikoto said.

Totsuka’s smile tightened. “Isn’t that normal?” He chuckled, but it sounded wrong.

Mikoto gave him a flat look. “You were scared, but… you didn’t want me to come.”

“No,” Totsuka said simply. “I thought that I could escape with my… What did he call it? A party trick?” He snickered. “That way, I wouldn’t…”

Mikoto tapped a thumb to Totsuka’s forehead. “Wouldn’t what?”

Licking his lips, Totsuka said, “I don’t like how they wanted to use me to hurt you.”

Mikoto tsked. “They didn’t hurt me.” _They hurt you,_ he thought. His fingertips skimmed along the bandage, the proof of it, brushing against the sensitive skin of Totsuka’s neck. Totsuka swallowed, the sound of it loud in the silence.

“They tried to,” Totsuka whispered. “And it would have been my fault, right?”

Mikoto closed his eyes, at a loss. “No, you idiot.”

Something warm pressed against his cheek. He opened his eyes; Totsuka was reaching up with a gentle hand. It was just like him, to try and comfort Mikoto, when Mikoto was supposed to be the one doing the comforting.

A second hand reached up, and Mikoto let himself be pulled down.

Their foreheads touched first, then their noses brushed, and Mikoto could feel the tickle of Totsuka’s breath on his mouth. Finally, he leaned down just a little further, and their lips pressed together. It was barely a kiss, but Mikoto’s heart pounded in his chest from it all the same. He pulled back, frowning a little, because only Totsuka would be dumb enough to start something so _huge_ right after being kidnapped.

But Totsuka was watching his lips, eyes lit with desire. He tugged at Mikoto stubbornly, his own lips slightly pursed in a pout.

“Totsuka,” Mikoto sighed, even as he inevitably gave in and shifted to lie down beside Totsuka, so they were tangled together on the couch.

Totsuka curled into him, pressing a nose to Mikoto’s cheek. “King,” he murmured, “I’ve waited years for you to kiss me, and that’s all you’ve got?”

Mikoto snorted, and he felt Totsuka’s smile on his skin. Accepting Totsuka’s challenge, Mikoto took Totsuka’s face in his hands and leaned in. Totsuka kissed him back with an eagerness so sweet it made Mikoto’s heart clench. He tried to respond in kind, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss. Totsuka moaned in encouragement.

Tasting the tang of blood, Mikoto pulled away gently. “Totsuka,” he grunted. “Your lip.”

Eyes hazy, Totsuka licked along his bottom lip. “Sorry,” he said.

Mikoto ran a thumb along that lip, wondering if Totsuka was thinking about the way Kirishima had touched it hours ago.

He probably was, because he took Mikoto’s hand in his and smiled. “I’m fine,” he said. “Just stay with me like this for a little while.”

He could do that, Mikoto thought, as he let his hands rest on the warm skin of Totsuka’s back, under _his_ shirt. His fingers traced where he knew the Homra insignia was blazed into Totsuka’s skin. Totsuka gasped a little, and, wanting to pull more of those sounds from him, Mikoto let his hand trail down from Totsuka’s back to his hip, toying with the loose waistband of _his_ sleep pants. Totsuka’s breathy little whine went straight to his cock.

Totsuka surged forward to kiss him, a little messy. Breathing heavily, Mikoto pulled away, trying to keep some semblance of control. He kissed the corner of Totsuka’s mouth, his cheek, his jaw, trying to give his swollen lips a rest, but Totsuka always pulled him back in.

They kissed hotly until Mikoto had to break away to breathe again.

“King,” Totsuka panted, “I want…” He wriggled impossibly closer, his fingers playing with the V of Mikoto’s shirt. He looked up at Mikoto through long lashes, and Mikoto groaned because _why did Totsuka have to look at him like that and why did Totsuka have to be wearing his shirt and smelling like his soap and feeling so fucking warm and soft against his skin?_

Giving in to the longing in Totsuka’s eyes, and the fire coiled tight in his own belly, Mikoto shifted them so that Totsuka was pressed to the couch under his weight. Totsuka’s mouth found his immediately, and he wrapped his legs around Mikoto’s waist.

Pressed so close together, through the thin material of their pajama pants, it wasn’t look before Mikoto could feel the press of Totsuka’s erection against his hip, just as surely as Totsuka could feel Mikoto’s. Slowly, experimentally, he rocked his hips, and Totsuka moaned into his mouth. Totsuka’s hands travelled down his back, slipping under his waistband, to grab his ass and pull him closer.

“Fuck,” Mikoto grunted at the jolt of pleasure.

They found a somewhat frantic rhythm, and it was good, it was so good, until it wasn’t enough, and Totsuka was tugging down their pajama pants, trying to get the material out of the way. And that, that hot friction, it was even better, with Totsuka gasping into his ear. His mouth found Totsuka’s jaw, his neck, carefully avoiding the bandage, and Totsuka dug his fingers into his back roughly as he let out a breathy moan.

“King,” he panted. “Please, I… ah…”

Mikoto snuck a hand down between them and wrapped it around Totsuka’s cock. Totsuka bucked into the touch and cried out in a string of filthy curse words that had no right sounding so sexy coming from his mouth. He felt Totsuka’s hand on his own cock and, fuck, it wouldn’t take long, like this.

He took in the sight of Totsuka falling apart first, spilling onto Mikoto’s hand with a strangled cry. He was flushed and trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm, and his hand moved quickly, desperately, on Mikoto’s cock.

“Shit, Totsuka,” Mikoto groaned, and then he was coming, too. He collapsed onto Totsuka, who wrapped his arms around him with a contented hum. They breathed together, hearts in decrescendo, until Mikoto became too aware of the mess between them.

The mess, on Kusanagi’s couch.

He pulled off his shirt to clean them up, and Totsuka, even having just come, was staring at his bare chest hungrily.

He flicked Totsuka’s forehead. “Oi,” he said, a little exasperated, a little pleased. Totsuka just laughed, sounding drunk. He watched with heavy eyes as Mikoto stripped them both of their dirty clothes. “Wait,” Mikoto murmured, and Totsuka nodded sleepily.

He went upstairs to dispose of their dirty sleep clothes and find clean ones. When he came back downstairs, Totsuka was snoring lightly. He let himself appreciate the smooth, pale skin he’d never seen before, just for a moment, before wrestling Totsuka into a new pair of pajamas. Totsuka snuffled, pouting slightly, but didn’t wake.

Mikoto paused, because he probably should go upstairs to his own bed, and not spend the night here, with Totsuka, where someone would inevitably find them together in the morning. And yet, this seemed so much more appealing, because Totsuka was here, warm and asleep and alive, and so there really wasn’t much of a choice.

He settled onto his back, with Totsuka on his chest, his breaths hitting Mikoto’s neck in warm puffs. Totsuka snuggled into him as if by reflex, and yeah, this would work just fine. Mikoto closed his eyes, and didn’t time to think of anything else, because he was already falling asleep.

 

 

He woke the next morning, groggy, with a stiff neck. Taking a second to listen to Totsuka chattering quietly, to the clattering of dishes, he sat up to look over the top of the couch. Totsuka sat at the bar beside Anna, who was eating some kind of elaborate breakfast.

She turned towards him immediately. “Mikoto,” she said simply.

Totsuka turned around, too, looking sleep-mussed and entirely too radiant. “Good morning, King!”

Mikoto blinked. “What time is it?”

“Early,” Totsuka replied. “Kusanagi-san isn’t here yet.”

Mikoto nodded, stretching to work out a kink in his back. They hadn’t been caught, then, unless… He eyed Anna warily, wondering if she’d woken before Totsuka. She just stared at him, her eyes a little too knowing for a brat her age.

He sighed. He was too tired to deal with this right now. “I’m going back to sleep,” he said, making his way from the couch to the stairs.

“Sleep well!” Totsuka chirped.

Anna studied him, chewing on her breakfast.

He ignored her piercing gaze on his back as he walked up the stairs. As he settled into his own bed, he thought that this was okay, too, because he could still hear Totsuka’s voice downstairs, and he could still smell him on his shirt, on his skin.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
